The Knife's Edge
by TheRedPoet
Summary: Two years have gone by since the end of the Second War when Auror Harry Potter is called in to investigate the murder of a Death Eater. The Ministry suspects his old friend and tension is rising. Harry has to find the real killer fast, but doing so drags up memories that would have been best left buried. AU.


A/n: Just to make clear what the author's note didn't really allow me to elaborate. This is an AU story. It will start right at the point of the divergence from canon. There are going to be themes that warrant the M rating. Be warned.

* * *

Neville kept staring blankly down at his hands, looking lost. Harry could feel people's eyes on him every so often. He knew he should say or do something, but he wasn't sure what. The seconds ticked on, turned into minutes, which eventually dragged on into hours.

It wasn't raining by the time they arrived at King's Cross, but the sky overhead suggested that was just a matter of time. They left the compartment together and Harry was just about to lug his bag off the train when he felt something… A sensation like he'd just put on a backpack full of rocks or as though gravity had just increased.

He frowned and looked sideways to Hermione, seeing a similar expression on her face.

"What's going on?" He asked her in quiet voice, not sure if he should worry the others yet.

She must've understood, because she shrugged. Her hand was close to the pocket where he knew she kept her wand, though.

"My parents are waiting outside," she said, eyes warily scanning the area.

"We should probably go."

Perhaps two dozen students aside from the two of them had stayed on to attend Dumbledore's funeral and most of them were already walking through the barrier and out onto the main of the train station.

Harry couldn't shake his feeling of unease, though, an unsettling fluttery sensation in his stomach.

Was he just being paranoid? With everything that had happened in the previous year, it wasn't exactly unjustified to be cautious.

He walked through the barrier and out onto King's Cross proper. Things seemed normal, with a lot of people in a hurry to get here there and everywhere. The six of them stuck together closely, Harry noted, as they began to walk towards the exit. He idly wondered if he would ever meet Neville, Luna or Ginny again and the thought sent a stab of hurt through him.

A train arrived on the tracks at Harry's left, slowly grinding to a halt to spill people out onto the other platform. Ginny caught up with in in three swift strides and caught him by the arm, turning him around. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears and her smile was sad.

"You take care of yourself, alright?" she said, looking up at him.

Harry forced himself a smile in return. It felt stiff.

"Of course," he told her, squeezing her shoulder lightly.

He had to raise his voice, because the new arrivals were making quite a racket… and they were crossing the tracks.

Ginny's expression turned into a frown as Harry pushed her aside to take a closer look. The windows of the train were spattered with blood. People were running and screaming – and some of them were… They were deathly pale, their skin closer to grey than white and almost all of them bore some manner of grisly injury.

Harry had seen such creatures less than a month before. The main difference was that these inferi weren't clumsy hobbling creatures. They were running at a full sprint.

Some of the fleeing people fell or stumbled and the dead were on them like a swarm of locusts, kicking and biting in a mindless fury.

Harry just stared, horrified, slowly stepping back and pulling Ginny with him.

"Er- Harry, what are the muggles doing?" Ron wondered, eyes wide.

The first inferi reached their side of the tracks and began to haul its way up. Harry shook himself and managed to push past the shock and fear.

"Never mind that, just run!" He suited actions to words and set off, hauling Ginny along by the arm.

He went for his wand and looked over his shoulder to see the dead take up the pursuit and that his friends were running right behind him.

"Use fire!" He called, aiming at the closest inferi. "Incendio!"

The other inferi edged away from the fire spell as it struck its mark. The bad thing about setting fire to a zombie, though, was when it didn't actually kill said zombie and when you were now chased by a creature intent on ripping your throat out that was also on fire.

Harry looked over his shoulder again. They'd put some distance between themselves and the inferi, but mostly because there were others who were slower than they who distracted the creatures.

The crowds made it difficult to target the inferi without hitting fleeing people and he could see his friends hesitating, running rather than risking to burn anyone alive. But even if they'd had nothing but targets, there were just too many of them. If they stopped and tried to help people, they'd all die.

"Go!" Harry said, shoving Ginny and Neville in front of him. The inferi he had lit up had finally fallen down but it only stayed on the ground for a couple of seconds before pushing itself up again.

Fighting wasn't going to be an option.

He turned his head forward again and ran smack into something solid that stopped him cold and sent him spinning to the ground. A young woman stood before him. For one second, he stopped breathing. She was pale and tall, probably an inch taller than Harry and absolutely drenched in blood.

Her straight strawberry blonde hair hung in an uneven mop down to her chin and it dripped with it. The light tan jacket and the white blouse underneath stuck to her skin. For a moment, Harry thought she'd jump down on him and tear his throat out, but then her eyes flickered down to his hand and the wand he clutched there, then over to his face and his scar.

Her eyes were pale blue, bloodshot, and full of tears. It was difficult to make out any other features with the blood aside from a sharp nose.

She blinked and offered her a hand, even as she fired off a spell over his shoulder that sounded like it impacted something. Harry took her hand and calloused fingers closed on his, hauling him to his feet with surprising ease.

"Come," she said, her voice a whip-crack that sounded over the screams and the chaos.

Her eyes drifted down to a body at her feet where a young man lay dying. He was about her age, or a few years older, with the same blonde hair. It was difficult to tell anything else, as mangled as he was. She smiled at him, the only tender expression Harry would ever see on her face, and then began to run.

There wasn't any time to waste. Harry had no idea where go to, but girl seemed to haves ome clue. He ran after her.

By the time he caught up, they'd reached the entrance to King's Cross. Harry had planned to go that way, but the girl was going elsewhere. He kept following her and a glance over his shoulder let him know it had been the right choice.

The dead weren't more than fifteen yards behind them and the people at the entrance were bashing their fists at an invisible barrier, trapped like sardines in a can. Within a matter of seconds and then overrun in a tide of mad snarls and tearing teeth.

The young woman headed for the escalators leading up to the shops surrounding the open courtyard they were in and took the steps three at a time. Once at the top, she paused for a moment, looking down.

She raised her wand, called something that couldn't be heard over the screams and snarls, and a spell howled over Harry's head and exploded behind him. He reached the top of the stairs, panting, and saw his friends coming up them. Hermione and Neville had fallen behind by a few yards and the inferi were only feet behind them, their pale, bloodslick fingers reaching out.

Harry moved to the side for a clear line of fire, sending stunning spells flying down the escalator and into the inferi massing at the bottom. They didn't accomplish a lot, with the inferi crawling over their own fallen, but it every second was precious.

Hermione cleared the top steps last, stumbling and falling, and Harry's shield-charm cut off the top of the stairs, leaving the living dead to slam into it with their fists.

He wasn't fast enough. One of the inferi had been too close and ended up on the wrong side of the spell. Hermione's spell missed it by an inch and the creature fell down on her in a mad rage.

His friend kicked and flailed, screaming desperately, trying to interpose her arms between the creature and her throat as it lunged. It wrenched her arm aside and snapped its jaws down on her fingers. There was a sickening crunch as bones broke.

Harry's stunner hit it a moment later and it stiffened in place, bloody teeth bared.

Trainers squealed on the stone floor as she slid to a halt and her other foot lashed out with vicious precision, knocking the inferi back and clear off her. Something snapped at the impact and she followed the kick up by sending a blast of spell-fire at the twitching thing's head, blasting it apart in  
a spray of gore.

Ron jerked Hermione to her feet, his face sheet white, staring at the two fingers missing at Hermione's hand. He looked like he might be about to throw up, but kept his composure and hauled her to her feet.

The barrier was still holding, but the inferi were making their way up the other escalator, delayed by the fact that is was heading down.

"Come on!" The girl called, pointing ahead.

Harry brought up the rear while they fled, sending stunners into the crowd as the shield broke and inferi reached the top of the second of the pair of escalators at the same time. Ron was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be in shock, almost carrying her as they rushed into a McDonalds.

Most of the people in there were already running, but some were locked in place. The girl tried to find some manner of control for the metal sheet that would fold down in front of the entrance at the shop, but the inferi were closing too quickly.

She snarled a vicious oath under her breath and Harry realized they couldn't save any of those people.  
They ran to the toilets and went inside the one for the handicapped, locking the door behind them. Harry had a flashback to one of Uncle Vernon's rants on the sort of scum who would use the handicap stall, or indeed the handicap parking spots, and only barely managed to stifle a crazed giggle.

Hands slammed at the doors outside. Fingernails clawed. People screamed. Harry looked down at his friends. Dull eyes and pale faces met him and a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror told him he didn't look any better.

Ginny and Ron crowded around Hermione, tearing up their shirts for makeshift bandages. Neville was sobbing as he threw up into the toilet bowl.

Luna sat in a corner, staring at the door, huddled in on herself, rocking back and forth.

The new girl stood staring at the door. The tears were gone, leaving her gaze cold and empty.

"Is it going to hold?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low to avoid scaring his friends needlessly.

"Not indefinitely," the girl said, not bothering to keep her own voice low. "But odds are good the wards will give out before the door does."

Harry frowned at her. "The wards?"

She nodded. "Whatever's keeping us in here and making the dead rise. Sounds likelier than rage monkeys, at any rate."

Harry looked back at Hermione, hoping she'd be able to provide an answer. She didn't seem to be in any shape to deliver it at the moment, though.

"Harry Potter," he said, switching his wand over to his left hand for a moment so that he could shake the girl's.

"Julia McDermott," she replied. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but all things considered…"

Something hauled itself bodily against the room and it rattled precariously in its frame.

* * *

When Harry woke, everything was blurry. He shot out of bed and had his wand in his hand in less than a second, sweeping it around the place, scanning for threats – for targets. The room was Spartan. There was a drawer beside his bed, from which Harry plucked his glasses as he stared towards the door, heart still pounding.

There were two dressers opposite the bed and a desk in one corner, facing the window. The only decoration was a framed picture, showing himself his late teens, with his six friends, all smiling at the camera.

For a second he thought it was the nightmares that had woken him up again. Then, he heard a voice from the other room, a male baritone, obviously agitated, calling his name.

"Potter! Answer, damn it!"

Harry sighed and yanked a pair of pants on. When was the last night he had slept eight hours? Months and months ago, at the very least. When you can't remember it's probably a bad sign.

The caller wasn't at the door, but at the fireplace, his shaven head nestled among emerald flames.

"What is it, Kingsley?" Harry asked, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

"We need you at the office. Right away."

Kingsley Shacklebolt was generally a good guy as long as he'd had his cup of morning coffee. By the sound of things, this had not been that kind of morning.

"Alright," Harry groused. There was no point in asking why. He'd be briefed on the details once he got to the office. If Kingsley saw fit to wake him up an hour early, something was up.

Last time he'd done so, McNair had been rampaging through Diagon Alley on a desperate killing spree. It hadn't sounded like that was what was happening, but Harry decided not to take any chances. If someone was going around killing people, they'd simply have to get over the fact that he hadn't showered in anticipation of meeting them.

The Auror's office looked much like any office space in any of the other departments of the Ministry of Magic. Cubicles with desk, drawers and ergonomic chairs were squeezed together in the small space. There were doors leading to small private offices, separated from the main room, for the senior aurors, and a small cafeteria.

This early in the morning, there were only a few miserable Aurors on their way off the night shift. He knew almost all of them, if not by name, then at least by sight. There were a few new recruits, but most were survivors of the Second War and Harry exchanged nods and muted greetings with them.  
There was a certain camaraderie between those who had fought Voldemort. Much like how three eleven-year-old kids ended up friends after a battle with a 20 feet troll.

Harry knocked on Kinglsey's door and waited for the man to ask him to enter before doing so.  
The head of the Auror office sat behind his desk, nursing a steaming cup of coffee.

"Morning Harry," he said, his voice noticeably more cheerful. "Sorry to have woken you, but you were specifically asked for."

Harry frowned at that as alarm-bells started going off.

"Asked for by whom?"

Kingsley grimaced.

"The minister's secretary contacted me half an hour ago. She said that the case would be in need of your expertise, as soon as possible, and that the Minister wished to speak to you once you had had a look. The forensics' team has already documented the scene – you'll have it to yourself."

Well well… Rufus Scrimgeour, The Minister for Magic, very rarely bothered with the affairs of the Auror Office. Once the Second War had been concluded, there hadn't been much for the Aurors to do save for mop up work and he'd left them to handle it as they saw fit.

It had been almost two years now, and things had been quiet for a while. Maybe the hardships of life had turned him cynical, but Harry had long felt that it couldn't last.

"Guess I'd better give it a look, see what's got ol' Rufus' knickers in a bunch."

Kingsley managed half a smile and took a sip from his cup before giving Harry the address.

"Be careful," he advised Harry. "And for Merlin's sake, don't start a fight."

"Of course not," Harry promised, grinning as he opened the door. "You know me."

"That's what worries-"

Harry had shut the door behind him before Kingsley got to finish the sentence.

* * *

He felt her presence before he could see it, the sensation of life in a room of otherwise inanimate things and by the time he'd actually physically seen her, his good mood was thoroughly soured.

"Morning, boss," the young woman said, smiling as she held out a cup of coffee to him.

There was a subtle sarcasm to the otherwise polite gesture. Harry took the offered beverage and drank. One might suggest that the war would've made him paranoid about the possibility of being poisoned, but he wasn't afraid. Hell, if it killed him at least he would be spared of his supposed protégé.

Astoria Greengrass was of average height, and her sensible shoes didn't add much to it. She had a slim build that suggested she ran a lot, something most purebloods would consider below their dignity. Her blonde hair was cut to shoulder length and her clothing was suggestive, but not indecent.

She was smart, driven, beautiful and a royal pain in the ass. One Harry had been stuck with for several months, since she finished the Auror training program. Despite the fact that it wasn't yet six in the morning, she'd clearly managed to shower, fix her hair and put on make-up.

"Morning, Astoria," he replied, keeping his voice neutral. "Thanks."

She smiled sunnily. "No bother."

Harry sighed miserably and shook his head. "We've got work to do. Come on."

He held out his hand and she grabbed it, soft dainty fingers sliding between his calloused ones and  
holding on tight as he apparated.

The apartment smelled of blood. Harry stopped at the threshold and put his hand on the door's frame, blocking Astoria's path. She walked straight into it, a second too late for it to be accidental, and ended up with one of her breasts pressed up against Harry's forearm.

He met her look of mock outrage with a steady glare, until she took a step back. It wasn't the first time she'd done something like that, nor did he expect it'd be the last. He wasn't sure if she was messing with him or trying to flirt. He wasn't sure which disturbed him most, either.

"This place is going to be messy, alright?"

She nodded and Harry continued.

"If you need to throw up, you get out of the apartment and you do so on foot. You don't use their bathroom, like last time, and you don't mess up my chances of finding any tracks of magic by apparating. Got it?"

She grimaced, but nodded again. When she spoke, there was a subtle touch of anger to her words that she couldn't quite keep down. It made Harry feel better about his day in general.

"Yes. I've got it."

It probably wasn't fair to rib her about her first screw up. Most people reacted badly to corpses, particularly those that had been eviscerated, but Astoria Greengrass annoyed him and he had to vent somewhere or explode.

The smell of blood only got thicker as they moved into the apartment, accompanied by the smell of waste. Corpses tended to void their bowels as the muscles regulating such things relaxed. If he'd cared, he would've suggested that Astoria performed the bubble-head charm on herself to have a supply of fresh air, but he didn't.

Besides, she would not back down. He couldn't use the charm because it meant he might risk missing something under the scent of the violence and decay. If he didn't do it, neither would she.

The body was in the bedroom and Harry froze in his tracks just inside the room. He'd seen many horrible things. He'd done his fair share of them, too, but this… This was something new.

More than anything, he felt like he was observing a macabre piece of art. The blinds had been drawn and it left a dim gloomy lighting. The bed was the only piece of furniture in the room and it had been stripped down to the mattress. The victim lay on it. It was hard to say much about him. Except for the fact that it was a him. He was naked, on his back, and restrained at both his feet and hands with cuffs linked to the frame of the bed.

His body had been disfigured with so many cuts that Harry wasn't sure he could've identified the man even if he'd known him all his life: His face, his feet, his damn eyelids. Two parts of his body were left untouched: The area around his hips, down to his thighs and his left forearm.

"The murderer sat astride him," Harry murmured, mostly to himself. "Probably, but not necessarily, having used sex to lure him here."

He glanced down at the wrist again, at the tattoo of a skull, with a snake coming out of its mouth like a tongue. A Death Eater. That changed things...

"What… What happened here?" Astoria was pale, but she seemed to be in control of herself.

Harry moved closer to the corpse, peering at the cuts. They were meticulous. Not a single one had touched an artery, or been deep enough to cause significant damage. But it had added up and by the looks of things, he'd bled out – slowly.

"Look at the knife-work," he told her. "None of these cuts are lethal on their own. There are hundreds of them. What does that tell us about the murderer?"

Astoria visibly braced herself, then stepped forward until she stood next to Harry.

"It's personal? Whoever did this, did it either to send some kind of message or – or to because this guy had done something… he was a death eater, he must've done something to someone."

Harry nodded. "And?"

"And…" Astoria thought it over. "He – or she – must have been very skilled with a knife."

"Yes… "Harry agreed, slowly, as he thought over the implications. "And there aren't all that many wizards who use knives, are there?"

He was beginning to see why the Minister had wanted him on the case and why he'd requested a meeting. It wasn't about his skills as an investigator, or at least not solely about them. It was about his contacts.

They combed the house, both magically and otherwise, over the course of the next hour. Odds were good that the forensics team had found and documented anything there was to find, but Harry didn't like taking chances. There was nothing. If either of them had moved around the house before getting to the bed, there were no traces to support it.

Once they were done, Harry wandered back into the bedroom. He looked at the cuts again, their angles, depth, placing, trying to see if there was a pattern he'd previously missed. It seemed random, someone's idea of fun. Perhaps he'd better go talk to Scrimgeour and see what he wanted and then see if the forensics guys had anything to add. First, though…

"Astoria," he said. "Head back to the office. I'll be back in half an hour. Have a theory ready for me by that time."

She nodded and left. The crack of apparition took a few minutes. She probably needed some time to collect herself before attempting the magic. Once he was certain she was gone, Harry walked up to the corpse and leaned over it, looking into its filmy dead eyes – And beyond.

What he was doing was one of the lesser forms of Necromancy, but even so, it was illegal as hell. Of the many tricks Harry had picked up in the art of death magic, this one was probably the most useful and the least harmful.

Deaths and particularly violent or traumatic ones, left an imprint of a sort, even it wasn't a corporeal one, like with ghosts. It wasn't obvious and it didn't last for very long, but those with the proper skills could use that imprint to see what the person saw at the moment of their death.

Behind the victim's eyes Harry saw… Nothing. Just blackness. More skilled necromancers than he would have been able to pick up other things: sensations, smells and reportedly, even thoughts.

Harry was almost thankful he couldn't. Subjecting oneself to such things generally drove the necromancer to insanity. He pulled away from the dead man's eyes and suppressed a shiver. Even without visions of death, agony and despair, the spell always left him feeling uneasy.

Still, he'd learned something. A blindfold, or a blinding spell had been used. Odds were good that the perpetrator had used it as a precaution against being detected by the victim in case something went wrong, rather than against an auror with some skill in necromancy. It was not like many people knew anything of the art, or spoke of it. Even fewer knew that it was something he had studied.

No… Assuming it was to prevent him in particular from collecting a last impression was far-fetched to the extreme at this point. He glanced at his watch. Scrimgeour was probably waiting for him and unless forensics had picked up something he'd missed, they were floundering in the dark on this one. Cheered by that thought, Harry left the crime scene to meet up with the Minster for Magic.

* * *

Accessing the Minister's office was not easy. There'd been an attempt at the old and publicly located office once in the past and Scrimgeour had taken measures to avoid a repeat. The first thing you had to do was check in at the secretaries desk, which was still in the same place. Only they'd had to get a new desk… And a new secretary. Susan Bones, in point of fact.

His old DA-friend smiled at him as he stepped up to the door. She'd always been on the heavy side and had added on a bit extra since the last time he'd seen her, but the smile was friendly and infectious. It felt nice to see someone actually smile at him these days.

"Morning, Harry."

"Morning," he replied. "I need to see The Minister."

Susan nodded and picked up the receiver of an ancient muggle telephone. She spoke with someone for a little while, then hung up and nodded.

"He's expecting you." She hesitated for a moment, biting her plump bottom lip, then said. "Are you feeling alright, Harry?"

She sounded worried.

"I'm fine," replied, without looking her in the eye. "Am I clear to go?"

"Sure."

Harry took a few steps towards the double doors at the other end of the room, then stopped and turned back to Susan.

"Give Ernie and the kid my regards, okay?"

She smiled again. "Of course. Take care, Harry."

"You too."

* * *

He stepped into the next room. It was rather small, probably a converted cupboard of some sort, and the walls were covered in runes and magical formulae. A light swept up and down Harry's body a few times, shifting in colour as it scanned him for everything from muggle explosives to polyjuice potion and the imperius charm.

Once that it was satisfied that he was indeed Harry Potter, a part of the wall opened like a gumball machine. Harry stuck his hand inside, grabbing whatever was there, and there was the sudden sensation of something tugging at his navel as the portkey activated and the world around him dissolved.

The Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, sat behind a rich mahogany desk in the center of a room surrounded by book shelves. It looked more like a rich man's library than the office of the ruler of magical Britain.

Scrimgeour was a good minister, as far as Harry was concerned. He was capable, smart and was not afraid to fight when it came to that. He'd led the forces of the Ministry in several clashes with Voldemort's forces in the war.

Harry respected the man but he did not particularly like him. The feeling was mutual.

"You redecorated," he remarked, glancing around the room.

Scrimgeour grunted, his gaze direct. "You left me little choice in the matter."

The last time they met had been the day after Voldemort had fallen. Harry and a few friends had created a rogue organization, much like the Order of the Phoenix during the first war. The papers had named them The Ruthless Seven and there hadn't been much to do but adopt the name once it had been stuck to them.

Their approach to the war had been simple and brutal. They'd killed any Death Eater they could find. It had been the kind of necessary evil where the emphasis lay on the evil, but it had also kept most of the neutral families from joining Voldemort.

Harry had no doubt that his supposed protégé and her family would have joined Voldemort out of fear, had they not been equally frightened of what The Ruthless Seven might have done to them.

"What do you want?" Harry asked.

Scrimgeour's eyes drifted to his desk, where a report lay facing Harry. He flipped the folder open and Harry dutifully skimmed the pages. The techs had done a solid job on this one, as was expected in what must have been a priority case.

The conclusions they'd reached had been about the same as his.

"Does it ring a bell, Potter?" Scrimgeour asked, his voice low and edging towards dangerous.  
Harry looked up from the report and met the Minister's amber gaze.

"Plenty of crazies like a little knife-play, Minster. It doesn't prove anything."

Scrimgeour slammed his fist onto the desk's surface with a boom.

"Do take me for a fool, Potter?" He snapped. "I examined the victim personally before letting you do so. A muggle surgeon would be hard pressed to produce knife-work that clean."

The Minister of Magic hadn't exactly reached for his wand, but the tension in his body suggested he was getting ready to do so. Harry didn't move an inch.

"Please don't," he said, voice soft, but not without edge. "We both know how it will end – and neither of us wants you to die today."

Scrimgeour scowled, but seemed to master himself. He relaxed marginally, placing both hands on the desk.

"You swore to me on that day that it was over. You swore that you would let the Aurors take care of the rest of the work, that neither you, nor the rest of the Ruthless Seven would interfere any longer. Do you remember that?"

Harry nodded.

"I will hold you to that promise, Mr Potter. You and I both know who did this."

Harry gritted his teeth.

"She is not who are you looking for. She would not have acted without my say-so."  
Scrimgeour gave him a hard look.

"You are deluding yourself, Potter. Did she have your say-so for the Parkinson's?"

Harry maintained his poker-face, even as he winced internally.

"Yes," he lied smoothly.

Scrimgeour shook his head. "You are lying to me, Potter."

Harry rose from his seat, staring down at Scrimgeour.

"She is not who you are looking for," he repeated firmly.

Scrimgeour rose too, though not as quickly or as smoothly as he once might have. He was not a young man anymore. Harry took note of it.

"Why do you insist on protecting her, Potter?" He asked, genuine curiosity present somewhere behind his anger and irritation. "She is a monster, worse than many of the Death Eaters you put in the ground, and we both know it."

Harry didn't deny it but he couldn't forget an outstretched hand offered to him when he thought he and all his friends were going to die at King's Cross, either.

"Was there anything else, Minister?" He asked.

Scrimgeour's left hand clenched spasmodically.

"No. That would be all, Auror Potter. Go interrogate her. I want your report on my desk this afternoon along with my tea."

Harry nodded, keeping his facial expression neutral.

"Yes, sir," he said, borrowing inspiration from Astoria to invest enough sarcasm into the intonation of the words to undermine their meaning. "But don't forget your promise to me, either. I will keep my friends safe. If that means stepping over corpses, even yours, then I will. Do we understand each other?"

He stared at Scrimgeour until the man nodded in acquiescence and then turned to leave. The Minister didn't let him go without getting the last word in, though.

"When this case is settled, you should ask Kingsley for time off, Potter. You look like shit."

* * *

When Harry had met Julia McDermott at King's Cross station eight years previously, he had been largely unaware of the things happening at the Ministry and out in the world. In response to Dumbledore's death and the impending war, the British Ministry had begun to reach out other governments in hopes of assistance.

Voldemort made his counter-move at King's Cross. They were stuck in that bathroom for three hours before the Aurors managed to break the wards. By the time they did, 953 people had died. Out of the 20 Hogwarts students with them at the train, 18 were dead.

The magical nations who had been all for solidarity and aid towards one of their fellows in the dealing with a terrorist began to look to their own population and the risk of similar things happening on their soil.

The support for any joint effort was shattered that day.

Harry doubted Voldemort would've expected him to be foolish enough to travel home by train, or he would've been there personally, to see things through. Odds were good it had been a message for Harry too, written in the blood of the classmates who had elected to stay behind and pay their respects to Dumbledore.

Whatever little innocence they'd had left in them had died that day along with all the bystanders.

She sat at her desk in the cramped Hit-wizards offices, leaned back in her chair with her feet on her desk, scribbling at what looked like a crossword from a muggle paper in her lap. She was tall, an inch shorter than Harry at most, and her tight-fitting t-shirt with its Spider-man logo dispelled any doubt that she'd slacked off since the end of the war.

For all of, she was rather plain-looking, her lack of curves and short strawberry blonde hair giving her a rather androgynous appearance.

"I was wondering when you'd come looking," she said as his steps neared, without taking her eyes of the paper, or even ceasing her scribbling.

It was rather creepy, or it would've been if he hadn't spotted the little make-up mirror hidden among the mess at her desk.

"Only a matter of time before I succumbed to your allure," Harry agreed. "I need to have a word with you in private."

She looked up at him, finally. Her eyes were a pale blue and cold, despite the grin forming on her mouth at his request.

"Of course," the cadence of her words slow, deliberate and somehow empty. "Interrogation room three should be free."

They didn't speak on the way over and Julia pointedly settled in the chair with the manacles, reserved for the interogatees, slouching back into it and propping her feet up on the table.

"So…" she drawled. "Is Scrimgeour making his move on us- or just me?"

Harry blew out a breath. Scrimgeour had never made his distaste for Julia McDermott a secret and he had categorically refused to allow her entrance into the Auror corps. Kingsley had sided with him, which had been enough to force Harry to back down on the matter. The head of the Hit-Wizard's department had been easier to persuade, though.

"Neither – not yet – but I think he's working up to it. If we don't play this right, he'll get stupid."  
Julia nodded. "Let's have it, then. Why are you here?"

"There's been a murder." He put the folder Scrimgeour had given him on the table and flipped it open to reveal the pictures of the corpse. "Look familiar?"

Julia straightened in her chair, eyes sweeping over the pictures.

"Gorgeous work," she remarked, eyes lingering for a moment on the picture of the Death Eater's mark and then moving on. "Not mine, as you no doubt are aware, but it is good. I assume you told Scrimgeour as much."

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm not sure he believes me. From his perspective, it makes sense."

Julia's eyes bored into his.

"I am a psychopath, Harry," she told him, unruffled. "Not a sadist. I had no reason to spend hours torturing this man."

She was right, which was why he hadn't headed straight for her. Julia had absolutely no qualms about killing, or torture, or anything else. But she had no pressing need to engage in any of them, either.

"I know," he said. "Which leaves us without suspects."

Julia shrugged. "A Death Eater is dead. It doesn't strike me as a problematic situation if it takes  
another dead one to piece things together. What do you say about some Thai food for lunch?"

"Gonna have to go with a rain-check," Harry said, collecting the photos again and closing the folder. "If I don't work on this, Scrimgeour is going to assume I'm dragging my feet and get on with the previously mentioned stupidity. See you on Sunday?"

She nodded. "As always."

Astoria waited for him in his office, sitting in his chair like she owned the place. Harry stopped in the doorframe and glared at her. He flicked his hand in a 'get the fuck out of my chair' gesture. She did so, but not without smirking cockily.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself.

"Let's hear that theory," he said, settling into his chair and sipping on the coffee he'd picked up at the cafeteria.

Astoria pulled out a chair and set it next to his. She appropriated the folder from him without missing a beat and spread it out across the desk.

"I think the first question we really should ask is why everyone assumes it's a wizard who did the killings," she said, pointing a delicate finger down on the picture that displayed the corpse from above.

Harry nodded, bidding her to continue.

"There's no proof of magic being used at all."

"The odds of a muggle killing a Death Eater in that manner aren't particularly high," Harry noted. "But it's technically possible, I suppose."

"What did The Minister think?" She wondered.

"Julia McDermott." Scrimgeour hadn't specified any need for him to be quiet about any of the details and he wasn't about to do him any favours.

Astoria frowned as she went through the implications in her head.

"I can't say that I blame him. She's a creepy bitch."

Harry narrowed his eyes even though he more or less agreed and Astoria looked appropriately mollified even if he knew she wasn't.

"In any case," she continued. "It didn't seem like a spur of the moment murder. It was too clean for a first attempt, so I did a little bit of digging."

By digging, she meant flirting with Archie at Archives.

"And imagine my great surprise when I found these," she slapped two folders like the one Harry had gotten from The Minister down on the desk. "It wasn't even hard to find them. It's been shushed up, but not hidden."

She opened up both folders in turn, revealing pictures of another two Death Eaters with mild variations of the patterns of cuts the others had been afflicted with. Harry glanced at the dates. The first had been found three months ago, the second one month ago.

Dawlish, who Harry knew wasn't much for asking questions and who was loyal to Scrimgeour, had apparently handled the cases. He'd been kept out of the loop here.

"A serial killer," Harry murmured. "Three dead Death Eaters. That means we can rule out the muggle angle. One might be a huge coincidence, but not three."

He imagined Scrimgeour had lost his shit over the first victim, but that he'd kept things hushed up until he'd secured proof to make his move. Only there hadn't been any proof. At the third corpse, he'd had to bring Harry in… Only he'd kept the other two bodies a secret, hoping that Harry would let something slip, maybe?

"Why the torture, though?" Astoria asked.

"Hate," Harry suggested. "Plenty of that for any of the Death Eaters still running about free."

"Or it's a frame-job," Astoria suggested softly.

"Scrimgeour wouldn't do that," Harry said firmly. "He's a prat, but this is too far for him."  
Astoria nodded. "Someone else might, though. If so, he's falling for it."

Harry's brows furrowed in thought. What she suggested was technically possible even if she was probably just trying to feed his paranoia. He'd left a lot of disgruntled people in his wake during the war.

"We'll keep that in mind," he said. "For now, though, I think there's a simpler theory."

"What's that?"

"Many serial killers kill for pleasure. That's what this looks like to me, someone's idea of fun."

Astoria's already pale face gained a slightly green-ish tint.

"You need to reconsider your social circles, boss," she told him.

Harry looked at her pointedly. "You know what – you're right."

What didn't mention was that he had a suspect already. Bellatrix LeStrange had survived the death of her master, but hadn't been seen since the final battle. She's know about Death Eaters still alive and hiding in Britain and she had an interest in framing Harry or his friends.

He doubted she'd lose a lot of sleep murdering her comrades if it meant getting to Harry. To get to Bellatrix, he had to do something he really, really didn't want to. He had to go see Narcissa Malfoy.

* * *

Malfoy Manor looked had been restored to its former glory after the war. The family had the money to do so, and Narcissa valued her name. The gates opened to admit Harry and let him into the garden, but the house was warded almost as well as his own.

He recognized the work as Eliasson's and Jönsson's and knocked, knowing full well that he would not like what happened to him if he tried to force the doors. It only took a few moments for the heavy oaken double doors to swing open, moving smoothly despite their size and breadth.

An angel of a little girl stood staring up at him with large gray eyes, touched with a combination of curiosity and caution. Her hair was long and platinum blonde.

"Hello, sir," she said, her cultured tones ruined somewhat by the fact that she was missing a few milk teeth. "Who- Whom are you – uhm – looking for?"

Harry smiled a little at her.

"I want to speak to Narcissa, if she's at home."

The girl nodded, turned around and called. "MUM!"

A pair of long legs descended the stairs at a deliberate, metronomic cadence, heels clicking on marble and Narcissa Malfoy appeared. He hadn't seen her in almost a decade and the years hadn't been kind to her. She still retained some of the beauty he remembered, enough that make-up and tastefully suggestive clothing made her intriguing to look at, but the war had taken its toll on her as it had them all.

The moment she spotted Harry she froze in her tracks. Her eyes moved from the girl and back to Harry again, and he saw her panic for just a moment. Then she regained her poise and said.

"Honey. Why don't you go to your room while I talk to Mr Potter?"

There was tension in her shoulder and her left arm had subtly moved closer to her robes. She was getting ready to fight him, but not for herself. It was the girl she was intent on protecting.

Harry stayed carefully still as the girl bade him goodbye and then ran off. Only then did Narcissa relax and that only marginally.

"She is yours," Harry noted.

Narcissa walked down the stairs and stood before him in between the opened doors.

"Yes."

Harry smiled a little. He'd always liked children – had always wanted to have some of his own. With everything that had happened, he wasn't sure he deserved it, though.

"I'm not here to hurt her, or you," Harry assured her. "I promise."

Narcissa laughed bitterly. "Do you think your words mean anything, Potter?"

She spat his name out as though it was a vile curse and continued.

"You murdered my son and my husband and here you stand delivering promises."

Harry didn't flinch at her fury and he didn't look away from her tears.

"Yes," he said softly.

It took a while before Narcissa spoke again, but when she did, her words were crisp and cold.

"What do you want?"

"I need information on Bellatrix," Harry said.

She laughed again, though there wasn't any more joy in it this time.

"Even if I had anything, why would I give it to you?"

In the past, Harry knew what he would've done. He would've said nothing and given her a significant look. She would've known that he was hinting at the worst possible thing she could imagine. That he'd hurt her daughter. But the stakes were different now and the rules had changed.

It was the easy way, not right way. It sickened him to know that he was capable of both.

"Because I can take care of your sister for you and then your daughter will never have to make the choices that got your son killed."

Narcissa pale face slowly turned ashen.

"You think I'm going to help you kill my sister?"

Harry nodded. "To keep your daughter safe – Yes, I think you are."

Narcissa blinked at that, then stepped out of the way.

"Come inside, Potter. Let us talk."

Harry did so. He hesitated a moment and then said something he'd wanted to tell her for many years. Something he'd never envisioned him saying about Malfoy in his life until the day it had happened.

"I'm sorry about Draco. He died bravely."

* * *

The first time Harry met Draco Malfoy after Dumbledore's death, it was a coincidence. It was a week after King's Cross and Harry and Hermione were making a run for supplies in Diagon Alley ended up running straight into Malfoy.

They were hidden under the invisibility cloak at the time and despite the fact that Malfoy had both Crabbe and Goyle with him, the resulting confusion was enough for Harry and Hermione to take stun his two goons.

The spell Malfoy hit Hermione with wasn't lethal and it saved his life when Harry disarmed him a second later. Wand all but forgotten, Harry grabbed the Slytherin by the throat and slammed him bodily into the nearest wall.

He shook with rage and slammed Malfoy's head into the wall a second time for good measure. Some darker part of him, the part born from the blood and wreckage at King's Cross told him to end the little ferret. It was his fault Dumbledore was dead. He was everything that was wrong with the world and his continued existence was a mockery to all the people who had died.

But Hermione's voice, as soft as the hand she placed on his shoulder made him ease the grip on Malfoy's windpipe enough to let him breathe. He remember, too, how Malfoy had lowered his wand, how he'd probably have let Dumbledore go if the Death Eaters hadn't arrived to coerce him. The real villain of the piece was Snape, not Malfoy.

"I am giving you this one chance," he said to Malfoy, the words coming out in a harsh snarl.

"Disappear. Get your mummy and your daddy and disappear. If I ever see you again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"

Malfoy nodded jerkily, his face sheet white.

"You'll never see me, I swear it on my honour as a Malfoy," he stuttered. "I'll go someplace – I."

Harry let him go, disgusted both with himself and Malfoy. Honour, indeed. He grabbed Malfoy's wand off the floor, along with those of his cronies, and snapped them all in half.

"Don't forget," he warned and pulled the invisibility cloak over his and Hermione's head, continuing onwards into Diagon Alley.

* * *

The second and last time, five months later, it was not a coincidence. Not entirely. Intelligence is a crucial part of winning any war and they'd established as extensive a network of detection spells and informants as they could. It was through one of those channels that they'd found out about the Death Eater movement in Liverpool.

They'd tracked the Death Eaters to an orphanage. Ron immediately began to set up an anti-apparition perimeter. It wasn't difficult work. Depending on the size of the area you were warding off, you only needed four or more ward-stones, traditionally set up in a square. It was short-term work and anybody knowledgeable about wards wouldn't find it too difficult to take apart, but for raids it was usually more than enough.

"Do we wait to go in?" Ginny asked, her voice tense as she watched Ron speed off around the building to set up the rest of the ward stones.

Harry considered it. If they went in too soon, they risked the targets apparating away but if they went in too late…

"We're going in now," he decided. "Julia. Neville. Go around and try to find a back-way in with Ron."

They nodded and hurried off the way Ron had gone. Ginny, Hermione and Luna fanned out behind him as he moved up to the door. There were times where finesse was preferable and as much as Harry wanted to blow the door off its frame and charge in, this was one of those times. With a whispered spell, he unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

For a brief moment, everything looked alright. The building was old and a little run down, but it looked clean. The carpet was plush and gray and the walls were painted in a dreadful faded green color. A bright red toy fire truck lay carelessly discarded on the floor.

Then the screaming started. It was just a woman – at first. They stood in a rather narrow corridor that led onwards to much larger room thirty feet ahead. There were three doors along the corridor to the right and, judging by the smell of baking bread, a kitchen in the room that opened up on the left side, opposite three rooms.

The screaming came from one of said rooms. Hermione hurried up to Harry's side, her shoulder pressing up against his, her wand pointed towards the kitchen. The hall was a pretty bad spot to be in. If someone popped around the corner and cast a killing curse, his odds of dodging it were slim.

Without cover, they'd simple have to be quick and quiet. Harry waved his left hand towards the kitchen and Hermione darted forward in that direction while he headed towards the first door and the source of the screaming. Ginny and Luna remained at the entrance.

Harry took the last few strides in a sprint, tore the door open and came to an abrupt halt just past the threshold. His stomach turned at the sight.

The room was an office of some sort. A desk was the central feature. An old computer had presumably been on the desk at some point, but lay on the floor now, still displaying a game of solitaire. A sofa stood in one corner with a pillow and a thick blanket, suggesting sometimes the workers took naps there. There were several filing cabinets, a closet and lots of cheery childish drawing plastered along the walls, most of them drawn with crayons.

The floor was spattered in blood. A woman lay across the desk, her clothes ripped to tatters. Her nose had been badly broken and blood covered her pale face and throat. A man stood between her forcefully spread, violently kicking legs. His pants were at his ankles and his penis jutted out from his groin when he turned to check on the noise.

Harry's fingers clenched around his wand and his silent stunner caught the other man in the chest. There was about a second to feel clever about his stealthy take-down before the Death Eater began to topple over, falling straight towards him. Harry had no choice but to catch him, but only for a moment – enough time for him to cast a silencing charm on the door and walls. Then he dropped the bastard face and dick first to the ground with a heavy crash, letting him lay there as he turned to the victim.

"Stay here," Harry instructed, looking anywhere but directly at the woman or the Death Eater. "He's not going to be moving anytime soon and help's on the way. Just sit tight. Hide under the desk. There are more of them out there."

She made a sound of agreement, stumbling as she tried to get the torn shreds of her clothes back on while getting behind the desk to hide at the same time.

"Harry. We're ready to activate the wards and breach." Julia's voice, cool and smooth came to him as though she'd stood next to him, speaking into his ear. She wasn't. Luna and Hermione had put their heads together and managed to design the magical equivalent of a walkie-talkie. They'd since improved the charms and enchantments until they could speak to everyone, or just a single person.

Harry picked up the necklace the charm was tied to, pressed his thumb against the little pendant hanging from it and spoke.

"Don't go in yet. We've got two more rooms to clear."

He poked his head around the corner, looking towards the kitchen, finding Hermione doing the same. He gave her a thumbs up, looked the other way, around the half-open door. The hall was still empty, but there was sound coming from the room ahead: Panting, the sound of crying children and a woman's voice, high and terrified.

It took all of Harry's self-control not to rush in blindly. It probably saved his life. In the last of the offices before the main room, he found Crabbe and – one of the children. Harry had thought he'd known hate. He'd been wrong.

The sensation that flared up inside of him was something far more intense than anything he'd previously experienced. His vision went red with rage. Whatever spell he cast, he would never remember, but Crabbe crumbled to the floor in a motionless heap with a thump, twitching as blood ran from his nostrils, eyes and ears. Harry stunned him, just to be sure and directed the kid to hide under the desk.

"Breach," Harry spat, already moving back towards the door. There was no response, but a moment later, he felt a leaden weight settle on his shoulders for a moment, the tell-tale sign of crude but powerful anti-apparition wards.

There was an outcry from outside of the room, followed by the sound of an explosion and splintering wood. Harry poked his head out through the door. He could see a tall man in dark robes, his face pock-marked and twisted up in rage firing off spells into the general direction his friends had breached through. He didn't even look towards Harry and Hermione.

With his free hand, he waved for them to follow, then he took two steps into the hall for a clear shot and sent a stunner searing down the hallway.

Dolohov was one of Voldemort's Inner Circle, one of the first wizards to have joined him. The spell had been cast silently and only had thirty, maybe forty feet to cross. Something must've alerted Dolohov of the inbound strike, because his wand snapped down and Harry's spell was sent rebounding down into the floor.

Harry felt something searing hot pass he shoulder and a moment later, he saw a ball of light home in on Dolohov, who had been about to level his wand on Harry in retaliation. The dark wizard tried deflecting the spell, but it ended up stuck mid-air. Harry's stunner and somebody else's careened off the shield that had only slowed Hermione's strike. Dolohov snarled something and darkness spewed forth from his wand, inky tendrils that caught Hermione's spell and engulfed it.

He was just been about to urge the curse forward when the floor at his feet exploded, leaving his pants in bloody tatters and sending him to his knees with a howl of agony.

His wand whipped the other way, but before he could do anything with it, Julia had stepped up to him and kicked it out of his hand. Dolohov tried to backpedal, but with both his legs mostly useless, he didn't get far. Julia closed the distance in a single stride and her boot caught the death eater in the throat.

Dolohov made a choked sound and his head hit the floor hard. Julia didn't hesitate for a moment. She stepped closer and stomped down on his throat twice with vicious force. Something crackled as it broke under the weight of her boot and was followed by a horrible gurgling sound.

Harry stepped into the room a moment later and ignored the dying wizard in front of him, looking left since Julia was facing his right. The room wasn't particularly big. There were shelves along the walls with various toys, books and lots of folded foam mattresses, blankets and pillows. Draco Malfoy lay slumped in a corner, his face white, his eyes wide and darting from the wand laying across the room, to Harry and Julia. There was blood on the floor, and it continued in a trial towards the door and Harry followed it.

An opening turned off into a short corridor led out towards the door that the Julia's team had breached and the remnants of it lay scattered across the small hallway. The blood suggested Malfoy had been near the door, either guarding it or attempting to bolt through it when the wards activated and that he'd dragged himself out of the line of fire. Ron's head and wand poked out through the opening, covering Luna who was carefully not stepping in the blood as she approached them.

"Watch him," he told his friends, and only then did he turn in the direction he'd trusted Julia to cover.

Dolohov's lips were going blue.

The right side of the room seemed to be devoted to all kinds of activities. There was a carpet with little roads, traffic signs and building. Two dozen children sat huddled there, most of them around the age of five or six. Another woman, this one older than the one Harry had met stood in front of them, arms outstretched as if she was trying to shield as many as possible with her body.

The rest of his friends were slowly gathering in the room, staying well clear of Dolohov, who still lay choking weakly.

"The fuck are you lot doing here?" Julia called irritably. "Luna, Neville. See to the perimeter before somebody sneaks up on us and fucking kills us. Ginny – take the lady and the children over to the kitchen."

She paced over to Harry, rolling her eyes. "How did you do?"

Harry didn't answer immediately. He was fighting the urge to throw up already and her reminder about what he'd seen in the offices didn't help. Knowing he couldn't show any weakness, he steeled himself and spoke through clenched teeth.

"Crabbe and Goyle are in the offices. There's another woman there, alive, but she probably needs a doctor."

"Get them over here," Julia said, looking to Ron and then back to Harry. "We should probably call for the police and hospital when we leave."

Harry shook his head. "We should call the Ministry. The obliviators know their stuff way better than we do. They might let some of these kids grow up normal."

He shuddered, glancing towards Ginny who was slowly talking to the woman standing by the children, her words slow and gentle.

About a minute later, the kids were in the kitchen being distracted by ice cream under Ginny's watchful eye. Luna and Neville were still out of sight and keeping watch while Harry, Ron, Julia and Hermione had the three death eaters left alive conscious and lined up against one of the walls.

Crabbe and Goyle were staring at them with hard defiant looks, while Malfoy was begging for his life. He had been for a while.

Harry walked up to him, moving his wand over to his left hand, but keeping it pointed at Malfoy's heart.

"I told you," he said slowly. "That if we ever met again, I would kill you. I gave you a chance to leave all of this shit behind and go be a decent human being somewhere."

Malfoy refused to meet his eyes. Tears were running down his cheeks and a steady stream of barely coherent pleas still spilled past his lips.

"Shut up!" Harry snarled and his hand snapped up to crack Malfoy across the jaw. It hurt, but Harry barely noticed it at that moment. He grabbed his once nemesis by the throat and threw him to the ground, stalking over to him and turning him towards the play room, where two of the children had been left, unmoving.

"Look," he hollered, turning Malfoy's bleeding face towards the bodies. "Look at what you've bloody done."

"I didn't-" Malfoy began, but was cut off when Harry kicked him in the ribs.

"You let them do it."

"Couldn't – stop them."

Harry shook his head in distaste, remembering similar words from a man named Peter Pettigrew, to justify his betrayal. He dragged Malfoy back to his feet.

"You could've tried," he said softly. A sudden and cold calm had settled over him, pushing the anger and hate aside and leaving only pity and disgust in its wake. "You should've tried. If you'd rather let children die than even try to help them, then what right do you have to live?"

The part got to Malfoy the way nothing Harry had said to him before had. He wouldn't know why until six years later.

The short sword at his hip left its sheath with a soft rasp. Malfoy's eyes widened and fixed on the blade, then on the door and Harry clenched his jaw.

"Be a man for once in your life," he advised the Slytherin. "It's over, one way or the other."

Slowly, very slowly, Malfoy nodded and closed his eyes. He was crying softly and didn't know it when the blade struck. The thrust was angled upwards, getting underneath the ribs and into his heart. The words "I'm sorry," spilled past Malfoy's lips along with a little blood and then he crumpled to the ground.

Harry's stomach turned but he gritted his mouth shut and swallowed what little bile came up with a grimace before turning. Julia had been considerably more creative in dispatching Crabbe and Hermione stood staring at her own bloody hands with a wide-eyed horrified fascination while Goyle drew his last gurgling breaths behind her.

Ron hadn't handled things as well as Harry and stood dry heaving in a corner.

Harry looked at his friends, at what they had done. They looked back at him, searching for… Something. In a flash of insight, he realized what. They were looking for something to follow and it didn't matter that he didn't know the way. He'd led them here and he had to lead the onward.

He reached for his necklace and spoke into it. "Ginny. Apparate to the Ministry and get the obliviators and healers here, then head to Headquarters. Neville. Circle around and meet us at the front of the building. Take the ward stones apart while you're at it."

"Harry?" He could feel Julia's cold, piercing eyes on him. "What about the bodies? If we leave them here, the Ministry is going to find them and lose their shit."

Harry met her gaze and for once wasn't disconcerted by it.

"Good," he said. "Let them.


End file.
